


Eyes To Watch You Sleep

by KyloTrashForever



Series: Dark Fics - Mind The Tags [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Just Loves Too Much, Ben is a little creepy, But There Will Be No Reylo Deaths, Can’t Say The Same For Anyone Else, Creepy But Weirdly Hot, Devious Ben, Doctor/Patient, F/M, HIPPA Violation, He Makes House Calls Rey Just Doesn’t Know It, I Spy With My Little Eye A Little Rey, Loosely Based On “You” From Netflix, Mind Manipulation, Stalker Ben, Stalking, Watching, Watching Someone Sleep, artist rey, doctor ben
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-08 02:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: Rey’s life is a little bit of a mess.Ben is just looking out for her.Even if she doesn’t know he’s looking.The “You” AU no one needed.





	1. A Little Keepsake

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. It’s me. Your garbage friend, KTF. I binged “You” on Netflix this week and because I’m absolute trash needed an AU. This is loosely based, as I’ve changed a lot of the details (and for those who have seen the show it will NOT be ending that way because no). Don’t ask me why I love a creepy stalker but I stan him.  
> Disclaimer: there will be no dub or non-con in this story, but mind the tags, this is a thriller.  
> Title from this song, which I have been listening to obsessively:  
> [An Unhealthy Obsession](https://youtu.be/THRtKGX-czY)

* * *

 

It is the smell that assaults her first.

Rey has never liked the smell of hospitals— always reminiscent of something clean and sterile but laced with that lingering bit of _death_ that no amount of bleach can wash out. She clutches at her still bleeding hand, a throbbing in her skin near the deep gash just between her thumb and index finger.

She had been so absorbed in her project she hadn’t registered the slip of her x-acto knife, the thin blade slicing through her hand with ease and leaving a wound that no amount of pressure could staunch. She was already squeamish at the thought of receiving stitches, but she knows that without them she’ll continue to bleed all over her shit.

So there she sits, tucked away in a rather uncomfortable chair in the waiting room of her local urgent care and patiently waiting for her name to be called. She checks the clock, groaning when she realizes she has now been there for two hours. It is a wonder she hasn’t bled out.

Okay, maybe that was just a _tad_ dramatic. She presses the patch of gauze the nurse had given her a little tighter to the wound.

_“Jackson? Rey?”_

Rey perks up at the mention of her name, spotting the small woman in bright pink scrubs leaning out of the double doors in search of her. She gives Rey an encouraging smile when she spots her, gesturing with her hands that Rey follow her back through the doors. She does so eagerly, still clutching her wounded hand and only _slightly_ still embarrassed by the manner in which she’d ended up wounded in the first place.

“How are you tonight?” the nurse asks.

“I mean save for bleeding to death, I’m okay I guess.”

The nurse chuckles, nodding in agreement. “How did you cut yourself?”

Rey sighs. “Damn x-acto knife got away from me.”

“You a crafter?”

“I _call_ myself an artist… but I’m probably the only one who does.”

The nurse eyes the faded paint stains over Rey’s overalls that she reserves for her projects. “That’s fun though. Would I have seen any of your work?”

Rey shakes her head. “Not unless you’ve peeked into my living room window to see my stack of unsold paintings.”

The nurse gives her a sympathetic look. “That’s tough. Hopefully it picks up soon.”

Rey can only agree in silence, not holding out much hope for such an occurrence but supposing there is nothing wrong with hope. It’s the only thing keeping her going at this point. They push through another set of double doors, making their way down a brightly lit corridor to a set of rooms on either side.

She gestures to the one furthest to the end of the corridor, smiling brightly as she ushers her inside and encourages her to sit on the end of the clean-looking hospital bed.

“My name is Rose by the way,” she offers. “I’m just going to log your vitals and then the doctor will be in with you shortly to stitch you up.”

She does as promised, checking her blood pressure, pulse and temperature and logging them into a pad she is carrying. She reminds Rey again that the doctor will be with her soon, and then leaves her to sit at the bed alone.

She hears every so often the muffled voice of the overhead speaker, various announcements being made just outside that she can’t quite catch from the confines of her room. She hears some sort of beeping she can’t place, an incessant sound that grates at her nerves and only furthers the anxiety she feels in this cold place.

By the time she hears the turning of the doorknob, she lets out a sigh of relief, grateful to get on with it. A thick mop of too-dark hair catches her attention first, his back to her as he shuts the door behind him to press inside. He is staring down at a clipboard, adjusting his smart-looking glasses before finally looking up at her.

Even through the thick, dark frames she notices the intense brown eyes, glinting behind the lenses as he regards her. His lips are too full, much too full for a man, and for a moment she lets her eyes linger at them, suddenly itching to put their shape to paper.

“Ms. Jackson?”

She nods. “That’s me.”

“Dr. Solo,” he offers. He glances at his clipboard again. “You’re needing stitches?”

She holds up her still bleeding hand, clutching the gauze to it tight. “Had a bit of an accident.”

He smiles then, a tiny grin that is almost imperceptible to the normal eye— but Rey is attuned to small details. He takes in her work overalls, his eyes moving over the bits of paint and other various bits of supplies that have collected over the years.

“Surely this isn’t some sort of painting accident.”

She shakes her head. “No, I was actually making my own stencils and decided it would be a fine idea to watch Netflix while I worked.”

He purses his lips. “Definitely not the smartest decision I’ve ever heard.”

She can’t help but grin, his serious expression alluding to genuine chastisement despite his playful tone. He takes a seat on the stool near the bed, holding out a large hand in quiet request for hers, and she offers her wounded appendage for his inspection.

He gingerly lifts the gauze away, his expression never changing as he studies the gash. “You really got yourself good. You should be more careful.”

His hands are warm— attentive in their observance of her as he leans over her wound. She finds herself looking at the way his hair falls across his brow, suddenly curious as to how old he is.

“You seem young to be a doctor.”

He glances up at her, his dark eyes expressive. “It’s a family profession. I always knew I would be one, and so I worked extra hard to get here in far less time than it should have taken. Not very beneficial to my social life, but here we are.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

Not _that_ much older than she was at twenty-six. Not that it mattered. He clicks his tongue when he seems satisfied in his assessment of her, reaching to a metal tray behind to deposit the bloodied gauze and pick up a clinical tube of some sort and something that resembles a too large q-tip. He coats one end in the viscous green liquid from the container of the same color, beginning to gently clean at her wound.

She hisses when the liquid touches the cut, a sting that ebbs quickly taking her by surprise.

“What _is_ that?”

“Chlorhexidine,” he informs her. “It’s an antiseptic. We have to clean the wound before I can stitch you up.”

That makes sense, she supposes. She tries not to make too much of a fuss as he finishes his task, and when he is done clearing all of the blood that clung to her skin, he deposits his tools to the same metal tray where her gory gauze still sits. He reaches then for a tiny silver needle, pulling her hand closer as he gives her a look of apology.

“It might help if you hold your breath,” he urges.

She tries it out, sucking in a breath as the needle first breaks her skin. It is in no way pleasant, but amidst the throbbing of the original wound it is nowhere near as bad as she first feared. Dr. Solo— to which Rey must admit she has thought of at least four puns that could be utilized to tease his name if she so desired— works quietly and diligently, his attention focused solely on his task as he deftly stitches her up.

When he finishes, he inspects his handiwork, seemingly satisfied as he gives her a soft grin. He stands to move to the sink and wash his hands, making quick work of it before drying them with a paper towel and returning to jot something down on his clipboard.

He glances at her overalls again, quirking an eyebrow in question. “So are you an artist then?”

“I’m trying to be.”

“How is that working out?”

“I’ll let you know,” she laughs.

“Not a starving artist though, I hope?”

“Not quite. I feed myself by serving people I don’t like coffee. It’s very glamorous.”

“Starbucks?”

She shakes her head. “No, a little mom and pop in my neighborhood.”

“Ah, well at least you don’t have to wear the awful green apron.”

“There’s always that.”

His eyes linger on her face for a moment, his expression unreadable before he finally clears his throat. “The stitches will dissolve on their own in a couple of weeks, so there’s no need to come back to have them removed. I’m prescribing you some Mupirocin ointment that I’d like you to use three times a day to prevent infection, and you can take Ibuprofen for the pain. Just pick some up over the counter when you go to the pharmacy to fill your prescription.”

She nods dutifully, giving him a bright smile. “Thank you for fixing me up.”

“It was my pleasure, Ms. Jackson.”

“It’s Rey, actually,” she offers.

His mouth quirks into the barest of grins. “Rey.”

He opens the door for her as she passes, and she gives him a small wave as she strides out of the room to return the way she came. She catches him watching her at the door when she glances back, that same unreadable expression on his face, and she gives him one last grin before ducking down the hall.

He really _does_ have a nice mouth…

Rey shakes her head. _Don’t go getting a crush on the hot doctor, Rey._

It’s not like she’ll ever see him again.

* * *

 Ben waits until she is out of sight before ducking back into the examination room and shutting the door behind him. He takes the clipboard from the counter, flipping to the second page to examine her intake sheet.

_Name: Rey Jackson_

_Date of Birth: August 2nd, 1992_

_Address: 94 Perry Street, New York, NY 10014_

_Phone Number: 212-555-5956_

He pulls his phone from his pocket, quickly taking a photo of the sheet before stowing the clipboard under his arm to assess what he knows.

He thinks back to first seeing her, her hair in a messy bun— which suggests she doesn't put high stock in her appearance— but her nails trimmed and neat, suggesting that she takes care of herself.

Her overalls, he assumes, are related to her artwork, some off-brand denim she more than likely got from a department store, and her shoes of the same manner, which could mean she is not accustomed to the finer things— or perhaps she reserves her older clothes for her projects.

Her legs were covered but her arms bare, and the minuscule tank she wore beneath the overalls made it clear from the thin straps that she was not wearing a bra— something that was interesting to be sure. She’d idly tugged at strap during their encounter, as if she’d _wanted_ him to notice.

Perhaps Rey _likes_ being noticed.

He types her name into his search bar, quickly finding her social media profiles that are all set to public.

Oh yes, she _wants_ to be seen.

Her pictures on Facebook are for the most part typical of a woman her age— a plethora of selfies and drunken memories with friends. Amidst them all are a series of shots of what he assumes is her artwork— bold pieces of bright colors that, if he is being honest, are quite good.

Her Twitter is also fairly typical, logging her every thought and action throughout her day in a mindless stream of online journaling. The most recent catches his eye, his eyebrows raising in delight.

**ReyofSunshine☀️: Thank God for dissolvable stitches and hot doctors.**

He smiles. So she finds him attractive. That is _very_ interesting. He did notice the slight dilation of her pupils as she’d watched him work, her question regarding his age alluding to her thoughts assessing him as a potential romantic interest.

Why is someone of her talent engaging in the droning socialite nonsense that her profiles suggest? He flips back to the photos of her artwork. She should be focusing on _this_ more _._ Perhaps her friends are to blame. He browses through the profiles of those he sees appearing most often in her pictures, seeing nothing but over-privileged debutantes with too much of Daddy’s money, if their wardrobe and fondness for champagne are any indication. Rey could do better.

He types out the address from her form into Google, cross-referencing with the nearby coffee shops and pinning down two possibilities for her place of work. He bookmarks the tabs for later perusal. He gives one last glance at her profile photo on her Facebook, smiling to himself.

 _I’ll need to learn more about you, Rey. Do you just want to be seen? Or do you want to be seen by_ me?

He stows his phone away with the intent to compile the information he’s gathered after his shift, and moves to leave. The metal tray near her hospital bed catches his eye, and he makes a quick decision as he stalks over to it. He snatches the bloodied gauze she had pressed to her wound, deliberately moving his thumb over it slowly as he gazes down at at the fabric. His mouth turns up in a grin, and he slowly tucks the gauze into his pocket for safe keeping.

_Just a little keepsake… until we see each other again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and he seemed so sweet. He’s just looking out for her. What a good boy.


	2. A Bit Of Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I wasn’t going to work on this again until next week but this Ben POV was in my head. One scene from the show I definitely wanted to keep as it... did things to me. 😬

* * *

 

The only routine that Rey seems to have is that she has _no_ routine.

This is the eighth instance in which Ben has watched her, quietly following behind at a safe distance, just one of many times he has observed her over the past week. He is able to commit more mornings than evenings with his shifts at the hospital, and it is the mornings that he learns the most.

One morning she stops for donuts, another she brings a breakfast bar from home. One morning she is out by seven (to which he was grateful for because he’d waited since five) and another she sleeps in until nine. She spent an entire morning staring at a blank canvas, her brows turned down in a frown. She doubts herself. Ben doesn’t.

He is still trying to figure her out. Her life is a bit of a mess. Almost as if she _needs_ someone to introduce a bit of order into the chaos that is her daily routine.

Ben has always liked order.

He walks a good ways behind her that evening, his cap slung low over his head and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark jacket. She took a trip to a local supply store and now seems to be returning home. He wonders if he will finally be able to watch her work uninterrupted.

He has seen several of her pieces through her window, lingering one morning after she’d gone so that he could take in what he could see. Rey doesn’t like to close her curtains— something that he will correct when she is his. It’s really not safe.

He has more than decided she needs someone like him in her life. He has learned a lot this last week, all tidbits that lead him to believe she _needs_ him.

He has seen her dissatisfaction with her job, something that he knows could be corrected if she would spend more time with her art. On the other two occasions he has been able to watch in the evenings, her painting was interrupted by one Gwendolyn Phasma— aforementioned spoiled debutante that Ben has now put a name to face via social media— and Ben had _seen_ the pull of Rey’s brow through the window before she’d answered the door. As if she’d been loath to answer it at all.

Gwendolyn is a creature of another caliber, as Ben has found in his research of her. Nothing too extensive, as he is not here for Gwen, but just enough to ensure she is not _too_ bad of an influence. The jury is still out if he’s being honest. A harmless party-loving socialite on the surface, but a distraction nonetheless.

He lingers at the end of the street as Rey nears her home, waiting for her to be well inside before strolling to take his usual perch on a stoop across the street. It is well overgrown with hedges, and the shadows from the shrubbery allows him to observe her with little fear of discovery.

She settles on her stool in front of her canvas, again just staring at it. She’s changed into clothes that seem to be made to sleep in, soft cotton shorts that draw his attention to her longs legs. He tells himself to be good, returning his attention to her face which is still pensive. _What are you thinking, Rey_? Does she doubt her ability, or just herself in general? He is not sure how long she remains that way, but he registers the moment she gives up. Her shoulders slump, her head hanging just so and her body heaving out a sigh.

He would like to hold her in that moment, but it is too soon for that.

She leaves the canvas with an air of defeat hanging over her, moving to settle on the couch as she reaches for a book slung on her coffee table. He is not sure what she is reading, but she quietly turns its pages for half an hour before letting it fall to her chest, her chest moving just a little heavier as if out of breath.

Oh. _Oh._ Suddenly the genre of book might be a little clearer.

Ben leans forward, his body suddenly interested in the way her hand is moving down her abdomen to tuck beneath the band of her sleep shorts.

Doesn’t she know her curtains are open?

Does she even care?

Her eyes close as her hand disappears beneath the thin cotton, and while Ben knows his intentions are pure, he is still a man. He cannot deny he’s thought about what her cunt will feel like when he’s sinking into it. Her wrist moves in a steady motion, and he can’t help but imagine her slim fingers working at her clit.

 _Can they satisfy you, Rey_? Not like his could. He is sure of it. She won’t need those kinds of books when she is his. He’ll never leave her wanting.

He feels himself hardening in his jeans, and he licks at his lips which are suddenly dry. He leans further to steal a glance down the quiet street, finding the pavement empty and the lamps dark. He is entirely too old to be considering this, but Rey is there, and he knows she’s warm and wanting and who is he to deny himself? He’s been so good this week. So thoughtful as he learns more about her.

He retreats further into the bushes, coming to a decision as he quickly unzips his jeans to untuck his cock from his briefs. He knows he must be quick, someone could still come out of this door at any moment. He watches the movement of her wrist in the dim lighting of her living room, almost imperceptible if he weren’t already so attuned to her.

He imagines the slick heat of her arousal coating her fingers, and he wonders what it would taste like. He imagines it would be sweet. Like her.

He grips his shaft, not bothering to tease himself and instead stroking at himself roughly as he focuses on her hand and what he knows it’s doing.

Her mouth parts, _so slightly,_ and he wishes he could hear the sound he knows has just come out of it. He wants to make her _make_ that sound. They will be so good together, once he knows enough, once he shows her how much she needs him.

He fists the head of his cock, squeezing it to smear the pre-cum that has gathered and sliding it down his length to increase his pace. Her back is arching, her lips parting just a little further, and he knows she is as close as he is. He pumps himself so hard it is borderline painful, but he wants to come with her. It’s their first time after all.

He sees the exact moment she falls apart, her wrist stilling as her body shakes. The sight of it pushes him over the edge, Ben angling his body to the side to empty his load into the bushes with only a slight tinge of regret.

He tells himself it is because he wishes he’d been inside her when he came.

He leans back against the stone wall, his breath heavy as he comes down from his orgasm as he watches Rey do the same. She is so beautiful in that moment, her face devoid of all the stress he sees it carry normally, and it pleases him.

He is telling himself he needs to leave before he tempts fate further when he hears footsteps, and he retreats back into the bushes instinctively. He peers through the shrubbery towards whoever is approaching on the opposite side of the street, spotting a man of average height coming down the way and turning to climb the steps of Rey’s building.

He pushes the intercom button, and much to Ben’s surprise he notices Rey jump up to answer her own. She is speaking, and he is speaking in turn. He is here for _her._

_Who the fuck is this, Rey?_

He feels something like sickening anger tinged with lingering disappointment. He’d done a very thorough search for any trace of a significant other, and had found no sign of one. So who was this man at her door after eight at night? Ben feels his fists clench as he continues to watch.

The man is handsome he supposes, with dark, wavy hair and sun-kissed skin. Skin very unlike the pale complexion Ben is cursed with. He is shorter than Ben though, a thought that pleases him. He knows the feeling in his chest is jealousy, and it makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't like to feel jealous. Not when he knows she should be with _him._

More footsteps draw his attention, peeking through the shrubbery to peer down the opposite end of the street. Yet _another_ man is making his way towards a now waving guest on Rey’s stoop, the first visitor greeting the second as if they had planned to meet there. The second is the same height as the first, although his hair is shorter and his skin is darker.

_Two men?_

Surely something is amiss. Surely Ben isn’t making the proper connections. Rey greets them both with a warm smile, ushering them into the hall as Ben assumes they all make their way back to her apartment. When Ben sees them enter, he spots the first man handing over a bottle of wine to Rey, which she takes gratefully as she moves across the living room to disappear into what Ben assumes is the kitchen.

The two men linger behind, smiling as they spoke to each other and Ben is slightly taken aback when they lean in for a chaste kiss. He feels a sigh of relief escape him. So not as he feared then.

He does not like the lingering dread that clings to him, knowing this could have gone differently. Someone like Rey is in danger of meeting the wrong man at any moment. Some stranger could come along and snatch her up and then she would miss out on all she could have with Ben. It isn’t fair of him to put her in that position. He supposes he has learned enough.

Perhaps it is time to see her again.  



	3. How’s My Patient?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. Such a sweet man.

What a day.

She frequently tries to avoid being on the same shift as Snap, but he seems to make it his life’s mission to combat her efforts. Snap Wexley is the epitome of “creepy boss”— always making the inappropriate comment or “accidental” touch that is just shy of sexual harassment. He’s very good at what he does, even if what he does is being creepy as fuck.

He’s on a roll today, having already brushed against her ass as he moves behind her, and again when he commented on the print across her chest, his eyes lingering just a little too long. She hopes he never finds her Twitter— she’ll definitely be fired for all of the less than kind tweets she’s made about him.

“Hey, babe?” he calls.

She has to repress the urge to roll her eyes. She _hates_ how he calls her babe. _I need this job. I need this job._ She keeps repeating this in her head as she pastes on a fake smile.

“Yeah?”

“Can you grab some lids? We’re running low.”

Her eye twitches. He only wants her to grab them because they’re on the top shelf. He likes to watch her reach for them. _I need his job. I need this job._

She only gives into the urge to eye roll when she turns away from him, shuffling over to the stock shelves in pursuit of lids. She reaches on her toes to grab them, and just as her fingers brush against the box she hears the overhead bell from out front.

Thank God, it’s just been her and Snap for a half hour and she always feels uncomfortable when they’re alone together. She doesn’t think he would actually _do_ anything _;_ he seems harmless for the most part. Still, he really amps up the creep when it’s just the two of them.

She finally retrieves the lids, setting them to the floor to gather up a sleeve from the box so that she can fill the dispenser. She can practically feel Snap’s eyes on her, and she angles her ass as far away from his gaze as she can without seeming obvious.

She hears a clearing of a throat out front, and when she glances up she is surprised by the face that stands just over the counter, currently giving the back of Snap’s head a look of contempt.

It’s the doctor. The one that gave her stitches. What a strange coincidence that he would wander into the shop where she works. Maybe he lives nearby? It’s not exactly close to the urgent care. Not terribly far either, but still. She silently curses— she looks like garbage today. Did she even put on makeup? She got ready for work with a mind to repel Snap’s advances.

As if that ever works.

If she thought he was handsome in scrubs— he is _edible_ in dark jeans and a thin zip-up pullover of charcoal grey. He tears his eyes from Snap, catching her gaze and smiling softly. She likes his smile. It’s very warm and inviting.

Snap is offering to assist him, but Dr. Solo is promptly ignoring him. When Rey approaches, catching the disgruntled look Snap casts between the two of them before huffing and moving away, Dr. Solo beams with content.

She grins back. “Dr. Solo, right?”

His eyes crinkle in delight. “You remember.”

“It hasn’t been _that_ long,” she laughs. “What, are you stalking me now?”

“Maybe I am,” he deadpans. “I love how you’ve arranged your living room.”

She falters for a moment, but breathes out a sigh of relief when he begins to laugh softly. “Cute,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. “So, just here for coffee then, Doctor?”

“It’s Ben, actually,” he offers.

“Ben,” she smiles softly. “Okay. Coffee?”

“Admittedly I saw you through the window and decided to stop in to say hello. How is your hand?”

She holds up her hand for his inspection. “Some of the stitches have already started to come out. It’s driving me crazy. I want to pull at the rest.”

“I wouldn’t advise that.”

“Yeah, I don’t assume you would.”

“No problems otherwise?”

“None so far. Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” She isn’t quite ready for him to leave yet— she’s enjoying this casual conversation with anyone who isn’t Snap.

“No. I’m fine, thanks. I just wanted to check in on you.”

“Oh.” She isn’t sure why she’s slightly disappointed. “Well, thank you. For checking in.”

He clenches his lips, clearing his throat. “Maybe I should get your number. In case you have any other questions.”

She bites back a grin. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Just to be safe. Here.”

He holds out his hand, silently asking to see her phone, and she reaches to pull it from her pocket, handing it over to him. Ben quickly taps out a text, and his own phone makes a tiny noise to alert him of her incoming message. He grins as he hands it back, satisfied.

“Maybe I’ll check on you again later?”

She nods. “That would be very thorough.”

His mouth hitches upwards as his grin widens. “If I am anything, Rey… it’s thorough.” He spares a glance towards the back where Snap has disappeared, frowning slightly as his brow furrows. He leans in, his voice falling to a low decibel. “Does he give you any trouble?”

Rey rolls her eyes, offering a quiet reply. “He’s harmless. Just your run-of-the-mill creep.”

Ben’s lips form a tight line, but he nods in assent. “If you say so.”

“I do,” she shrugs. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

His smile returns, and she likes it much better than his frown. “I’m sure you can. Still, it never hurts to have someone looking out for you.”

“No,” she agrees with a grin of her own. “I don’t suppose it does.”

He gives a goodbye then, turning to leave the building, and she allows herself the indulgence of appreciating the way his dark jeans hug his ass. She didn’t think she’d ever see him again— but she can’t say that she is put out by his visit.

She chalks it up to a happy accident, one she is _very_ pleased about.

She finishes the rest of her shift with relatively no problems, sneaking out as quickly as possible when the high school boy that works in the evenings shows up to take her place. Phasma has asked to get dinner, and while she must admit she’d rather go straight home and paint, she knows agreeing would be easier than arguing. Phasma doesn’t really take no for an answer.

The walk to the ridiculously overpriced bistro that Phasma likes to frequent isn’t far, and while the food is a little rich for her blood, Phasma always insists on paying, so Rey tries not to complain. She spots her immediately upon entering, tucked away in the same booth she always prefers, and Rey strides over to join her.

“ _Finally,”_ Phasma huffs. “I thought maybe you’d been kidnapped on the way over.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “It didn’t take _that_ long.”

Phasma waves a hand. “Any more trouble from Mega Perv?”

“No more than usual. I’m pretty sure he caught a bit of second base when he _accidentally_ bumped into me around lunch time.”

Phasma grimaces. “What a fucking creep. You should just quit.”

“ _Some_ of us don’t have a trust fund, Phas.”

“You could get another job. It’s not like coffee shops are exactly hard to come by.”

“I’m not having this argument again. He pays me more than he should, and I need the money.”

“Because he wants to _fuck_ you.”

“Well… I can handle myself. As long as he keeps it in his pants I can handle the occasional grope.”

Phasma huffs. “Whatever you say.”

“Can we please talk about something else besides work?”

“Sure,” Phasma relents. “Get any painting done this week?”

“Hardly,” Rey sighs. “Between our movie night and Poe and Finn dropping by earlier this week I just… haven’t seemed to have been able to get anything done.”

“You’re making excuses again. If you want to paint, just paint.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Easy for you to do,” Phasma shrugs. “If you really want to.”

“Whatever. Are we going to eat?”

“Yeah, yeah, I already ordered your usual.”

Rey’s phone _dings_ in her pocket, and she reaches to pull it out, smiling when she notices the nickname she’d given Ben in her phone flashing across her screen.

> **Dr. Hottie: How’s my patient?**
> 
> **Rey: It was touch and go for awhile, but I think I’ll live.**
> 
> **Dr. Hottie: That’s good to hear. It would be hard to ask you out if you’re dead.**
> 
> **Rey: You want to ask me out?**
> 
> **Dr. Hottie: Purely for altruistic reasons of course.**
> 
> **Rey: Of course. Just looking out for me.**
> 
> **Dr. Hottie: Always looking out for you. ;)**

“Who are you texting that has you grinning at your phone like an idiot?” Phasma cuts in.

Rey jumps slightly. “Oh, well… actually, it’s the Doctor I met in the Urgent Care when I cut my hand.”

Phasma wrinkles her nose. “Really?”

Rey nods. “He happened to pass the shop today and saw me inside. Came in to ask for my number.”

“That’s… weird. Right? He just happened to be in your neighborhood?”

“It’s not weird. It’s not like the clinic is very far from there.”

“It’s six blocks.”

“Well… maybe he was shopping nearby. You’re reading too much into it.”

Phasma doesn’t look convinced, but shrugs finally. “I guess. Just be careful. There are a  bunch of weirdos in this city.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “He’s a _doctor.”_

 _“_ I’m just saying.”

Rey waves her off, returning her attention to her phone and seeing she has two more text messages.

> **Dr. Hottie: Any plans tonight?**
> 
> **Dr. Hottie: …or homebound?**
> 
> **Rey: Actually I’m out with a friend right now. I’ll probably be with her for awhile. I’m free this weekend though.**
> 
> **Dr. Hottie: I could probably work you in.**
> 
> **Rey: If you can keep from stalking me for that long.**
> 
> **Dr. Hottie: No promises.**
> 
> **Dr. Hottie: I’ll text you tomorrow and we can hash out the details.**
> 
> **Rey: Sounds good to me. :)**

She lays her phone back against the table, ignoring the skeptical remarks from Phasma. She isn’t going to let her rain on her parade. Not today.

She smiles to herself, listening to Phasma prattle on about some trivial matter that happened that day, her mind admittedly on a handsome doctor. She is already excited for the weekend. It has been a long time since anyone has shown any interest in her, and she has to admit that it makes her a tad bit giddy.

She can’t put her finger on it… but she has a _very_ good feeling about Ben.


	4. Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot. Idk guys Ben is a fucking creep.
> 
> ...I love him.

Ben eyes the screen of his phone, reading the last text Rey has just sent him ensuring that she is out with a friend. Ensuring that she is _not home_.

Perfect.

He glances across the street from his hiding place in the bushes, turning his head to look down either side of the dark road and finding it empty. He pulls his cap down further over his eyes, tugging his dark jacket tighter over his broad form and taking a slow step out into the street.

The thing about doing something you shouldn’t is to not _actually_ look like you shouldn’t be doing it.

So Ben does not allow himself to feel any sort of panic or nervousness, instead casually strolling across the street as if it is _his_ home he is approaching. He knows which one is hers based on the placement of her windows, and bypassing the entry to the building is much simpler than one might think.

He picks a random button on the panel for a higher floor, pressing it and waiting. No answer, so he chooses another. An elderly woman’s voice rings through the speaker, and he quietly tells her there is a package for her outside. She is confused at first, but when he explains he is very behind on his route and just needs a quick signature she buzzes him up.

Easy.

People are so easy.

He slips inside the building, letting the door close behind him and quickly making his way to the door that he knows belongs to Rey. Taking note of the empty hallway, he pulls his tools from his pocket, wasting no time in picking the lock.

It has been many long years since he has taught himself this useful skill, and it comes in handy now. He hears the click of the mechanism giving way after only a moment, and clicks his tongue when the door opens easily.

_Really, Rey? Not even a bolt lock?_

Another thing he will need to rectify. Another worry for another time.

He closes her door behind him, at first only able to stand in her living room, quietly taking in her space. She is organizationally disorganized, some sort of method to the madness that is her home. Everything is awash with knick knacks and bright colors, nothing seeming to match anything else, and he wonders if she purchased _everything_ here from a flea market.

It’s cute, really. Refreshing. She doesn’t need fancy things to be happy. He will give them to her anyway.

He walks through the living room quietly, running his hand along the soft throw over the back of her couch and smiling to himself. She’d touched herself here. His cock twitches in his jeans at the memory.

One day he will fuck her into these cushions and there will be no need for her to touch herself. She will have _him_ for that.

He looks about the space for the best angle, deciding that he wants a visual in every room. He needs to keep an eye on her. For her protection. She _needs_ him. Honestly— she doesn’t even have a bolt lock. What would she do without him? There are a lot of fucking weirdos in this city.

He sets about installing the tiny cameras he’s brought with him, not even dwelling on the price he paid for them or the lengths he went just to get them. Fitting on the tip of his finger, they are small enough to remain unseen unless one is actively searching for them. They are nothing that can be bought at a RadioShack, that’s for sure. He was promised at least a month of feed before he will need to get back in here and change them. He hopes by then he will be welcome in her house and there will be no need for this cloak and dagger nonsense.

He leaves one in her bookshelf on the spine of an economics manual that looks like it hasn’t been touched in over a year, and then another at her desk on the blessedly dark shade of the lamp. He moves through the house quickly, covering the kitchen (vent hood), the extra bedroom (painting), and then finds himself in her bedroom.

It is just as he would have imagined it, if he’d allowed himself the indulgence. Just as messy and erratic. One of her paintings stands off to the side of her bed, slung on an easel. It is… nothing like her other paintings. Bright colors and patterns are traded for bleak shades and hard edges. It is dark. It is _wanting._

He can see why she hides this one away.

This is some part of herself she is afraid of. Some part of her she does not want others to see.

It is _beautiful._

He steps close to it to run his fingers over the surface, feeling the brush strokes there and imagining what she looked like when she created it. He wants take her against canvas one day. To writhe in dark colors with her against the stark surface and create something beautiful with her as the brush.

He shivers all over just thinking about it.

He shakes away those thoughts, knowing he cannot get distracted. He has work to do. He steps into her bathroom, looking about for the best place to install this camera. He settles on the bronzed finish of the light fixture, affixing it to the beveled edge so it can pan the entirety of the bathroom.

He takes a moment to peek inside her medicine cabinet, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He spots a used pack of birth control on the shelf and picks it up, seeing that she is on time and seems to take it dutifully. Good girl. He hates condoms.

He puts it back where he found it, glancing down to her sink and eyeing her toothbrush in a little cup at the ledge. He picks it up, gingerly turning it over in his hand as he lets his finger slide only the bristles. Closing his eyes, he brings it to his mouth, placing it on his tongue and closing his lips around it to suck at it softly.

It tastes of mint, and he assumes this would be what the inside of her mouth might taste like. He flicks his tongue against the brush, imagining that he is licking the inside of her mouth instead. He can’t wait.

He adjusts himself as he places it back where he found it, his dick growing steadily more needy the more he is amongst her things. Back in her room, he decides to install the last camera against the upper edge of the television mounted on her wall, the tiny device blending in with the black surface easily.

_Perfect._

He supposes there is no reason for him to dawdle, but when he turns to leave, something catches his eye. Her hamper is just by the door, and a bright pink scrap of lace sitting at the top of the pile taunts him. He swallows, moving towards it and slowly reaching to pick up the gauzy material.

He inspects her underwear in his hand, turning it over and over until the cotton center is in view. He closes his eyes as he brings it to his nose, inhaling her scent deeply and letting it flood his senses. With his eyes closed he can imagine he is _right there_ — face-first in her cunt and _fuck—_ the things he would do to her.

He lets his tongue snake past his lips to brush along the fabric, and he can _taste her_ there. She _is_ sweet. Just like he thought. His cock is painfully hard now, no longer able to restrain himself with her taste on his tongue and his nose full of the scent of her. He brings a hand to the pronounced bulge of his jeans, rubbing it through the denim and groaning as the stiff fabric rubs over his erection.

_Fuck it._

His pants and briefs are bunched down his thighs in no time at all, his cock insistent in his hand as he fists it tight. He brings the lacy fabric of her underwear down to his length, stretching it over it and rubbing it roughly. The material is not ideal for this, slightly abrasive to a point that is almost painful— but in Ben’s mind it is her slick heat that he is sliding into, and he leans over the hamper as he works himself over.

He is breathing hard, her tiny underwear wrapped around his dick as he pumps into them, and he knows this will not take long. He imagines her gasping beneath him, taking his cock as he drives it into her slick heat over and over and _over_ again. She’ll take him so well. He’ll fill her up _so good._

 _“Fuck,”_ he groans.

His cum spills out of him without warning, catching most of it in the lace while the rest dribbles over her dirty clothes. _Shit._ That won’t do. He brings the lace back to his face, seeing his spend coating the cotton center and he rubs it in to mingle with her own residue. It makes him smile.

He balls up his trophy, tucking it away in his pocket as he pulls his jeans back up to adjust himself. When he is righted, he sifts her laundry so that there is nothing visible, and quickly leaves her bedroom. Taking one last look at the apartment when he reaches the front door, he smiles to himself.

 _Soon,_ he thinks. _Soon we’ll be here together._

* * *

It is hours later when she comes home.

Ben sits at his desk, swirling an Old Fashioned in his glass and taking small sips. His laptop streams a live feed from his handiwork, and he watches as she strides into her home— none the wiser.

He smiles as she immediately begins to pull out of her clothes, shrugging her shirt over her head to stand in her lacy bra as she pads through the living room and down the hall. He switches the view, seeing her come into her bedroom as she toes out of her jeans.

He swallows heavily as he takes in the sight of her shapely ass in her tiny thong, wanting to sink his teeth into the flesh there and leave a mark. He will. One day.

When she begins to strip away her underthings, Ben holds his breath. She is walking into her bathroom, and he quickly switches the view so that he can watch.

Her tits are everything he could have dreamt of, tiny mouthfuls that he guesses would disappear under his hands. He wonders if he could fit the entire thing inside his mouth and has to adjust himself just thinking about it.

She reaches inside the shower, turning on the spray and then waiting only a moment before stepping inside. Her figure is obscured behind the opaque shower door, and Ben can only just make her out as she begins to work shampoo into her hair.

Her shower is small— so small he wonders if he could even fit. His is much better for how he would want to take care of her. Large enough that he could press her against the wall and slam into her from behind. The water would collect between them and splash to the floor as his cock sunk deep inside her. Her moan would echo in the space. He could almost hear it now.

He swirls the liquid around in his glass, taking another sip and smiling to himself.

_Soon._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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